The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1887-02-04
MY YOUNG SOLDIER.
A Tale Of Boyish Patriotism and
Love.

Love.
It is a cold, November twilight. Tho
curtains have been drawn close in the
little room which, earlier in the day,
serves us as Office, but which, after tne
stroke Of five, is delivered over TO the
more tender associations of the family
sitting-room. A large. CHEEKY wood
fire burns on the family altar, and as
wood is cheaper than Oh in this country
region, we experience t1e double salts
faction of yielding grac efully to an in
nocent request of childhood and of
prachcing economy in less disagree
able manner than that In which the ne
cessity usually PreseB - itself, and allow
its pickering flames &c be, for a couple
Of hours, our only illumination.
The customary sacrifices cf Autumn,
roast chestnuts and Popcorn, have been
offered to the Lares and Penates of our
domestic hearth, AID now the children,
from goideE-hairo1, lisping Robbie to
my dark-eyed, gentle-mannered first
born, who, sittng close beside me,
nestles her nut Drown head coaxingly
against my coatHJeeve, plead and clam
or for a "story"
'Launce, hing the pocket-book, y
and the lad obeyed, opening a closet
and taking from one Of its shelves q
queer-looking object, which he places in
my hand with quiet reverence, as
though the inaDimate thing had feeling.
The young bodies draw closer and fairly
swarm over mine in their desire to see
again what is a familiar, yet ever-inter-
esting, relic.
1t is battered, old, leather pocket
book, which is scarcely recognizable as
such, discolored, dirty. misshapen. mat
ted together MS though il had been
soaked in some fluid; ragged, as If some
substance had ruthlessly shattered and
torn its leathern body, Takingit, with
the same tender handling, from nv
boy, 1 looked sadly on its stained, wet
outsidei aud then, as I opened carefully
the st8 compartments, and viewed
their contents, n flood Of memories
rushed from them and brought hot
tears to my eyes. Here was a bit of
currency, of old, disused design, crisp
and clean, though yellowed by time az
one end, while the other was stiff and
discOlored like the leather; here again
was bit Of dried clover-blossom, and
on the same stalk four-petaled leaf
forluck! Something heavier and larger
IS in this pocket; draw it out and we
all hold our breath; the mother puts
down her knitting, and rising lays he1
arm in loving, mother-fashion about
the neck of her straightforward eldest
son; while her blue eyes, alittle dimmed
by age, grow even less CLEAR with un-
shed tears as she gazes on the object ]
have distracted.
1t is an Old-fashioned, double tin.
type, about two inches square, held to.
gether by n narrow filagree band of gilt
From the dark surface Of the metal
gazes the face of woman; q sad-eyed,
wan face, with a whole history of suffer
ing in its pathetic beauty; there is the
indehnable impress of maternal love
upon IT, and the yeaTning expression OF
Its limpid eyes haunts one with its
mournful craving. 1t is the face Of the
one who, having suffered much, feels
the foreshadowing of even a heavier
cloud. Scratched on the tin Just be-
meath is the keynote to the life Of the
original; in irregular letters, as though
formed by some rude implement, is one
word, Mother. j turn the other side
uppermost and reveal the bright, un-
clouded, boyish face of my hero. Laugh
ing eyes beam joyoUsly upon us; a close
crop of golden curls cling tightly to q
youthful, well-shaped head; a delicate
ly-cut mouth, unshaded as yet by the
soft down of manhood, is parted as
though in the act of finishing "a hearty
peal Of merriment. A countenance fun
of health, and trimming over with life
and happiness, well calculated to inspire
a wealth Of mother-love.
After we have all once more refreshed
our memories with long gaze at the
two faces, which from much study are
as familiar as those of actual friends, ]
replace them i'm the wallet, and regard
ing il, rs in olden times the improvisa-
tor centored his attention upon the sub
ject of his song, began my tale, a true
story Of our Civil War:
None of YOU children remember the
struggle which convulsed your country,
rs an earthquake skaters the land, de,
stroying happy homes, disturbing peace.
full valleys, rending and disfiguring
great cities as well as simple villages, -
! begin, looking thoughtfully around
on the young lives which had sprung
into being since that terrible period
"But your mother can tell you many
tale of those days" and glanced fol
confederation at her whose womanly
resignation of her claims as a young
wife had but endeared her the stronger
TO me.
you know that had Just begun my
practice when the war broke out, ana
that 1 left your mother and my new
home and entered the service as army
surgeon. Many and sad were my ex
periences in the bravely won and nobly
endured suilerings of our men; and, il
justice to those others. our enemies
let me say that among tn,
wounded prisoners brought 10 m,
for treatment i found endurance a
lnanfully displayed, agony as patientl,
supported One day the heat had beer
intense; the hospitals, crowded witt
bruised and manned humanity, wer
close and sitting in the absence Of tina